


Seven Moments 'Til Twilight

by vongroovy (tralalalally)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Gondolin, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tralalalally/pseuds/vongroovy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maeglin, from his arrival in Gondolin to its fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Moments 'Til Twilight

**Author's Note:**

> This is old. So so so old. Wrote it for some challenge in maybe 2004? A million years ago anyway. I remember being really happy for the chance to write about a character I found really intriguing, and looking at this years later, I don't hate it.

**I.**  
This is what Maeglin will remember of his first moments in Gondolin: the unfamiliar smile on his mother's lips, so different from any she wore in Nan Elmoth, the brightness of the King's hall, the approval in Turgon's eyes, the feel the words of loyalty have as they slip from his own tongue, the golden tendril of hair that rests on Idril's cheek.

He has seen much that is strange and much that is lovely in the city, but his dark eyes hunger to see still more. Gondolin has welcomed him, and he lets the brightness and the beauty envelop him.

His glance falls on Idril, and he feels that he is home.

 **II.**  
He watches his mother as she stands in the sun, face upturned to welcome the warmth and light. She smiles when she feels his gaze on her, and she returns to his side. "Lómion," she says, and he sees that the forbidden name tastes sweetly to her tongue, although it comes strangely bitter to his ears.

"No," says Maeglin, placing his hand on her white-clad arm. "Do not call me that in this fair city. For there is no twilight here, no shadows." He turns his glance briefly to where his cousin stands, at her father's side. "There is only sunlight in this place."

Something flickers in Aredhel's eyes, but she does not speak the name again.

 **III.**  
"Lómion," she whispers, and he does not deny her this. He sees a faint shadow of blood staining the shoulder of her white gown, and he lets her hold tightly to his hand. He feels the poison filling her, causing the darkness in her eyes, and he misses the smile that has so recently been on her lips.

When she departs, he walks silently through the city, and it seems to him that all has turned to darkness in Gondolin. He moves without thinking or understanding, coming to clarity when he finds himself on the Caragdûr. His father's curses fill his ears, but he speaks no words, and his fair face betrays no hint of feeling, even as Eöl is cast down the walls.

He leaves that place quickly, his demeanor still unwilling to offer a glimpse of what is in his heart.

Turgon, with Idril by his side, looks on Maeglin with sadness and warmth, and Maeglin sees Aredhel in his eyes.

Gondolin will still be his home.

He looks to Idril, but she has turned from him and is watching the sun's rising.

 **IV.**  
Here is Idril, white and gold, fair and bright. And she is cold too, for all her golden charms. She has ever made Maeglin think of the sun, but it is the sun of a winter's day, a sun that hangs high and shines bright and gives up no warmth.

And she is Gondolin also, alluring and untouchable, and the silver bells of her laugh and the golden shimmer of her hair keep him imprisoned there as much as the wishes of her father.

"Will you give me anything of your heart?" It is an old question, and one that he asks ever without hope.

"You brought darkness to this place," says Idril. "And you should not be asking this question of me. Your words are shadowed by evil."

"You blame me for deeds I did not commit," Maeglin says. "You say 'evil' and 'cursed', but I do not feel these things, only love."

"Speak no more to me of this," she says. "Forget this madness for both our sakes."

She leaves quickly, her bare feet silent on the floor, and with her goes all light.

In the darkness that ever creeps about him, Maeglin thinks only of possessing the sun.

 **V.**  
There is no light in this place, only black darkness and pain and the unfamiliar stench of death.

Maeglin is silent, for he is strong, and even in torture he remembers the taste of loyalty on his tongue and the feeling of coming home and the smell of the mines he loves, and he will not speak.

But there are other voices that do speak, and they remind him of jealousy and Men before their tones turn sweet, and, for a moment, there is light as they whisper a promise in his ear. "Idril."

Darkness falls.

 **VI.**  
Eärendil is a quiet child, and Maeglin approves of this. He has too much of Tuor in him, but Maeglin sees Idril as well, in a certain tilt of the chin and a certain small smile. Idril has never turned this smile on him, but Eärendil does so at times, and Maeglin finds that he returns it easily.

There are some days when he hates the child, when he looks on his fair, innocent face and hates him for having the blood of Men in him, hates him for not being his child, hates him for being ever-welcome in Idril's arms.

He knows that Idril resents that her son will not share her distrust, and this comforts him.

"Will you come with us to the walls?" Eärendil asks. He is alone, his hair tousled, and Maeglin sees that he has been running.

"Not this night," says Maeglin. "I have seen enough sunrises." He smiles and pushes the child gently away. "Go. Your mother will be wondering where you are."

Eärendil runs off again, and Maeglin is left alone with the heavy shadows of the night.

 **VII.**  
There is no dawn in Gondolin. There is ash and smoke, and Maeglin is reminded of walking in the dark forest of Nan Elmoth, where everything was always in shadow. Gondolin is not beautiful now, attacked and tortured, filled with the cries of its people and the smells of blood and fire.

Maeglin moves purposefully through the chaos, the promises made to him filling his mind. For a moment, he sees a flash of golden hair, bright in the darkness, and a smile dances in his shadowed eyes.

He is Lómion, child of the twilight, and he ever seeks the sun.


End file.
